Space
by Caprice 6
Summary: A BulmaxVegeta Vignette set in those 3 years, meant to be strictly cannonical and aiming to condense the power of a BV get-together in one short installment. When Bulma first noticed the dark, aloof Prince, what did she see?


**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own the characters mentioned below or the show Dragon Ball Z in general. I do claim to love the idea of Vegeta and Bulma together.

**AN:** I haven't disappeared; I've just been to hell and back more than once over the last couple of months. This is a bit of love in the form of a vignette I did for a very special friend of mine. It's an appetizer to warm you up for the next chapter of HTMLTAS. I promise it won't be long, k?

**Space**

_"She saw how lonely my father looked__…" – Mirai Trunks, Episode 122, original subbed version._

Strong slender legs ran down the flight of steps that lead out into the ample courtyard of the Capsule Corporation facilities. The grass shimmered like green jewels under the gentle touch of the late afternoon sun and the soothing breeze floundered freely through her thick curls of hair. She anchored her heels on the ground and raised burnt cheeks to the cooling wind. It came as a god-sent gift and a much needed break after enduring her mother's chirping blathering. Who would have thought mom would pull the boyfriend card on her today?

Her lilting voice still rang high…. How long had it been since she'd last spoken to her ex-boyfriend and how long did she plan on staying this way? Why so young and so reticent to the joys of life; why so stubborn…

And so it went, the never-ending singsong of perfectly reasonable arguments.

She'd skedaddled as soon as her mom had turned around to fetch more confections from the depths of the chrome clad kitchen. Now she stood here, gladly away, bare feet crushing the crisp blades of grass and a short summer dress playing games with the swirling air. It was preposterous to be harassed for deciding to be alone when singlehood was what she thirsted for the most. Breaking up was always hard to do, worse when it meant shelving a decade of memories, both clumsy but also tender. They ran as deep as the biggest oceans and way up high with saving the world. But the personal fairytale had ended in little more than a fiasco, a dream tainted by petty infidelities and short-tempered tantrums. If only her mother understood the value of solitude. If only she realized souls didn't need each other to go on living.

No. She'd learned she didn't want anything else to do with men.

Bulma Briefs contemplated life perched on a self-made throne of confidence. Independent woman, zealous of her personal space and man-less for as long as she'd keep on breathing. She'd erect a wall around her flawed human heart and fortify her defenses against the pesky bugs of emotion. And so life would unravel the way it should and she'd be the sole protagonist of her world. Alienation and withdrawal not a gruesome fate, but in fact a perfect rule, or so she believed. That was the plan and nothing could thwart it. Bulma Briefs, after all, was a modern day genius.

Slowly her lips widened into a self-satisfied smile, eyes traveling waywardly over the tops of the scarce trees planted around the premise. Slim, dainty fingers brushed her ringlets of hair lazily as her eyes stared deep into a newfound era of personal determination. They twinkled as they traveled freely across the expanse, looking for nothing in particular in their carefree motion.

But then, in the manner of a single second, time became suspended.

Her gaze fell on a lonesome figure that leisurely lounged over the emerald lawn, his back against the metal structure of the space ship turned gravity machine. Bulma's fingers froze in mid-sweep, still buried in her aquamarine loops and her eyes became locked upon spotting him, so rare, laying there, motionless as he was.

He was every bit the evasive man, moving around her house with the stealth of a thief and the grace of a shadow. Yet now… now he appeared to be asleep, enveloped in the darkness cast over him by the vessel.

Only this way did the angles of his face smoothened, she thought. Hn… well not quiet, the frown remained, pulling thick eyebrows together. The oddest thought crossed her mind, that his face just wouldn't be the same without that semi-scowl and the unsolvable mystery it represented. And so she contemplated him in shielded wonderment. The power of zinging lighting couldn't be contained, yet here it was, quiet and still over her very own gardens.

Seconds morphed into minutes as she stood there, regarding him with a blank face, breathing in the perfect vision of loneliness he embodied. She registered it all, the thick dark locks of hair and the raised up scars running along the hard slopes of his arms. The slender, compact body hugged so tightly by his training uniform and the slightly parted lips that let a hint of snowy teeth show.

She struggled to come to terms with the view and yet couldn't. Something in it rooted her to the spot. He was a prose to isolation, the prince of a barren, bruised land. The path he walked bore no witness and held no survivors, no one but himself. No rational being would cross into the black, gritty world he inhabited and the most mesmerizing notion was how resigned he appeared about it. His body language spoke of a stern kind of acceptance as he sat there, perfectly strong and perfectly distant.

Bulma stared on, still weak and well speechless, deep blue eyes swallowing him whole. Wasn't he the one example of what she'd said she wished to be? The kind who lived detached from the heavy chains of emotion? This is what she'd placed on a pedestal, this image of absolute loneliness, so shouldn't she nod in approval and wander off away and satisfied?

But her soul was restless. It thrashed and stirred, like awakening from a deep long slumber. She swallowed once and stared fate in the face for the first time ever. He'd be the hurricane crashing over her peaceful waters and the storm trampling down her fields. He'd be all that and perhaps, way much more…. and that wasn't enough to balk her step…

Dainty white feet moved, like those of a child, out of their own volition. They tread quietly along the emerald mantle that separated them, crossing the un-crossable unbeknownst to all.

Then gave him a glance over and sank gingerly to her knees, breaths away from the tight solid body of the Saiyan and the raw power it shielded. One leg was slightly raised and bronze forearms rested unsuspecting over his lap. The thick raven eyelashes didn't flutter and she inwardly sighed, thankful he hadn't felt her as she loomed.

It was a silent second before Bulma began angling forward, the pasture rough against the soft flesh of her palm as she placed it over it. She approached him, like a slow motion movie, eyelids closing simultaneously until the moment came when space caved in and womanly lips finally touched his. The faintest of kisses brushed against his mouth, a gentle whisper both brave and unexpected. It's feathery feel was like wings of angels, a stark contrast to the roughness of a blow or the sting of a wound. Like nothing that'd ever touched him before.

She slowly pulled away but her eyelids didn't open. Instead her lips lifted at a corner slightly, happy to be a lamb prancing into the den of a wolf.

"Do you always kiss strangers?"

Her eyelids swung open and blue jeweled eyes met black endless ones. The taunt in his words didn't fail to spark the fire in her spirit and her rosy lower lip curved in response.

"Don't soldiers ever?"

His gaze grew deep and suspicious, eyes narrowing slightly at her subtle seduction. A second later he leaned forward, a white gloved fist sinking in the yielding cushion of the grass. His teeth, perfect like gleaming pearls were shut but his lips remained parted. She didn't back down while he scrutinized her, instead a glimmer of defiance glinted off her blue irises as he assessed her. Then a corner of one of his eyes tightened, head slightly tilted.

"I don't kiss, woman. I wage war. I train and I fight until the day I die."

"No war lasts forever." She raised her delicate chin a millimeter, soft slender fingers twirling and tearing grass next to his glove covered hand.

Weapons he could parry with the elegance of a fighting style learned in the halls of a palace. Torture he could take with the stoicism of a well-bred fighter, but a kiss? No training had ever reached this far.

"I warned that you shouldn't interfere. Don't. I don't do stupidity." His fingers now dug into the soft soil and his visage hardened into her softer one.

"Let _**me**_ do it then." She answered. "I want to know what it feels like to kiss a prince. And every night, I want to know how he makes love." Vegeta gazed at her, his quandary alive in those jet black eyes. Though her persistence was an effrontery, her words had thoroughly captivated him. She lured him with the sweet nectar of full cherry lips and the promise of a warm welcoming body to ease his frustrations on, night upon night. Just when he thought she'd given more than was possible she offered the gift of a clean, willing woman to warm his bed.

He remained still, not uttering a sound yet somehow knowing. He'd be a male. He'd take her tonight like he'd taken everything else thus far.

When he didn't leave or push her away, she knew it'd be up to her to keep bridging this space, to break it until no space remained to be broken. His pride counted on her bravery and so she was loyal to her word and took it upon her to "commit" this one stupid act on both their behalf.

Her soft strawberry lips fell over his once more to taste the arrogant indecision. And as the rosy petals played the promising act of open seduction he let her in, inside his mouth, his world and his life.

A girlish moan met his tongue and in that same instant a wayward thought struck. That a woman would trade loneliness a thousand times for the kiss of a prince if he came along.


End file.
